Monthly Archives: February 2006

In Convenient Skulls

What makes it art is the fact of the wig. Or, if you prefer, the toupee. The hair piece. The periwig. The merkin. Whatever. It’s no skin off my scalp. As it sits there, literally the crowning glory to all … Continue reading

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A Pool in the Dirt

What women hate about me: My pretty blue eyes. My strawberry lips. My converted barn and outlying shacks. My cherry red boots. My disdain for religion and the religious. My Sunday newspapers. My pomposity. My clutch at terra firma. My … Continue reading

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A Stain in the Dust

I am a fugue of balloons in motion. A helicopter ride skirting the stratosphere. From up here I can see your house. It looks like a blooey. That noise, the tiles crashing from your roof. That was us, buzzing your … Continue reading

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For All Good Things

Tenement Wine. Your exclusive guide to city drinking, urban fucking and the lure of the pub. And what now, now that the English public house has become Patricia Hewitt’s front room? What now, now that you know that these people … Continue reading

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Sugar Smacks

A minor, yet relatively true, account of my brief time in the doughnut store where, in no particular order, I did the following: 1. Eyed up the doughnut boys. Those long-armed, sweet mouthed boys. Those dough-eyed creators of magic, sugar … Continue reading

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Standing Up Like Steam

Who’s this with his broken nose, his flat feet, his cauliflower ears, his closed eyes, his cracked chin, his receding hairline, his burnt-off eyebrows, his knock-knees, his fallen arches, his bandy legs, his swivel hips, his one small ball, his … Continue reading

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One of Those Days

I am summertime red. That is, blazoned. In the middle of the park, in the middle of a thousand people, I stand out. The advantage, I suppose, of red. In the winter I am the blood in the snow. At … Continue reading

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